Veridical Unreality
by Hane no Zaia
Summary: Aided by a strange voice and visions of a supposed future, a younger Jason Todd stays clear of Batman and said man's tyres, and continues his thieving career. Even so, his reality balances on a thin knife-edge, and the Dark Knight really can't seem to stay away, can he?
1. Part One

**Veridical Unreality - Part One **(Out of Three)

**- o0o -**

"_I don't know when they started – not exactly…"_

**- o0o -**

"_I think they've always been there, lurking beneath it all… triggered through every day events…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Dreams… nightmares… echoes… not of the past, but of a future which has yet to come…"_

**- o0o -**

"_Truthfully, I dread it, because I know… I know what awaits me…"_

**- o0o -**

"_But… having seen the path leading up to the distant future – however dreary it might seem – what am I supposed to make of it?"_

**- o0o -**

"_What would you do… if you already knew your own future?"_

**- o0o -**

"_Would you strive to change it?"_

**- o0o -**

He is a kid of the streets, because even if he knows that there is still some kind of home for him to return to, he knows it will not last for long. He has already made preparations for the worst, because even though he fears it and even though he wishes it would never occur, he knows it will, eventually.

When he returns one day from a more or less lucrative day spent as a pickpocket, he finds his mother on the bathroom floor, dying from an overdose. He already knows it's too late, and even if he could technically run out and find someone to call an ambulance for him, he knows ambulances rarely dare to come into their area. He knows it's too late, and, finding himself powerless, he hates it even more.

Still, the day had been a fairly good one – financially, at any rate – and as such, he splits his earnings in half, using one half to secure some additional food supplies for himself and the other to pay off some neighbours to help carry his mother's body to the nearest graveyard and some additional for a shovel.

He spends the night digging his mother's grave.

When finished, he is so exhausted both mentally and physically that he passes out right on top of it, coming to only hours later, resuscitated by a sour taste and smell of vomit – his own, apparently – along with the sound of cawing of multiple crows up in the trees. He feels weak and tired, but he still pushes himself off of the ground, knowing it isn't his time to go yet.

**- o0o -**

For a while, he wanders aimlessly.

Then, he takes up stealing again, moving on from regular pick-pocketing to burglary.

Sometimes, he gets away unscathed. Sometimes, he does not, but either way, he makes a living, and even though it is not an easy one, he knows the alternative and prefers the former.

Occasionally, and more often from a distance than not, he watches the Bat and said bat's occasional companion – the teenage vigilante going by the moniker of Robin – and he knows them, somehow, even though they don't know him – not yet – and neither will they. He – Jason Todd – knows what their meeting will eventually bring about, and as such, he retains his distance, even though it proves difficult at times.

After all, in their eyes – though a petty thief and a young one at that – he is a criminal, and juvie does not sound very tempting to him. The streets may not always be kind to him or anyone else, but compared to what he has seen, the streets are much preferable to the alternative. His compelling circumstances aside, a crime is still a crime and he is a serial offender. It may not be in his blood – then again it might be, all things considered – but it is certainly in the way he was brought up.

His father – biological or not – had been a crook, and had worked as a henchman to some higher-ranked criminal in Gotham. He was also dead, and Jason knows that he will meet a similar fate unless he plays his cards right.

His mother – who hadn't given birth to him but been a far better mother to him than the one who had – had been Catherine Todd, but in the end – as he had known she eventually would – she took an overdose – accidental or not – and perished in his arms. He hates drugs; he hates them for taking his mother from him, first in a mental and spiritual sense and then in a physical one, but at the same time – through the eyes and experiences of the one in his dreams – he sees their potential.

Drugs are dangerous, but they're worth a whole lot of money. Besides technology and weapons, drugs are one of the highest rated commodities in Gotham and as such, the ones who are in control of the drugs are also in control of at least part of the city. He hates drugs, but he still realises that it is entirely possible to use a bad thing – such as drugs or threats of violence – to achieve something better than what could have been otherwise. Admittedly, it is not an ideal world, and the black-clad man the one in his dreams is up against is an idealist who refuses the practical in favour of embracing the ideal, creating temporary solutions instead of permanent ones since he has sworn not to kill while the one in his dreams has embraced a path of carnage and of striking true fear – one of death – into his adversaries.

As for his own path, he is still undecided, and all in all, it might be for the best, seeing that neither path appeals to him very much. Even so, he finds himself watching, knowing what will eventually take place, simultaneously waiting for and dreading it.

Years come and go, and at some point, the bird – Robin – seemingly leaves the nest, albeit temporarily, leaving the Bat to deal with the city singlehandedly.

Jason is still keeping an eye out for him – keeping an eye out for the big bad Bat – and he wonders, now that things have gone differently from him compared to the other, whether or not it'll soon be his own turn to face the Dark Knight of Gotham. So far, he has stayed clear of the man, but all in all, his own activities – most of which are by no means legal – have been getting a bit more attention as of late, especially after someone – some photographer – managed to capture him on film while wearing a very conspicuous red hoodie, giving rise to the moniker the Red Hood, a name which by no means helped him stay under the radar as much as he would have liked.

After a close call too many, he adds two automatic handguns he has stolen to his general arsenal, but they're far more of a last resort than anything else, seeing that automatic or not, there is still a certain amount of recoil to deal with, and even though he has taken care to keep himself in prime shape, it is still a whole lot for his still-growing body to handle. Still, though he rarely uses them – not to kill, at any rate – he finds that he is a surprisingly good shot. Initially, his hands shook a bit when handling them, but after the first few shots had been fired, it was as though he had adjusted to them – physically as well as mentally – and he wonders if it has something to do with the other him, seeing that the other him – the older him – seems so fond of them. However, knowing better than to rely on only one type of weaponry, he also carries a stolen taser as well as a few other gimmicks – tape and stuff – that he has managed to get his hands on fairly easily, things that don't inhibit his ability to move around.

Fancy moniker aside, he is a very minor figure in Gotham's underground, and he works alone, and most of the time, its greater patrons leave him alone, even though there have been occurrences when he has been forced to defend himself against either them or their goons when he – accidentally or not – finds himself a tad too deep inside their proclaimed territory. He also makes a point out of avoiding any direct confrontations with the Bat, fearing what such confrontations might result in, and as such, he cannot help but wonder whether or not there is a higher power out there mocking him when he finds himself the spectator of a drama where the Joker – or the Crazy Murdering Clown Bastard, as the other him hisses – has actually managed to capture the Bat – however _that_ had happened – and is on the verge of inflicting whatever madness the man could possibly be planning when he – when Jason, as the Red Hood – soundlessly lands behind him and proceeds to nail him in the throat with a taser, observing with seeming calm how the man twitches slightly as the electrical current runs through him before crumbling to the floor, still twitching slightly for a moment before going completely still, indicating the loss of consciousness.

Jason is mildly puzzled by how quickly and how easily the madman goes down, even while knowing the clown won't be down for long. The man at his feet carries little but a shallow resemblance to the one plaguing his nightmares, even though he knows them to be one and the same, though the time for that has not come, and neither will it if he has any type of choice in the matter. Still, while knowing that and while knowing the devious nature of the other, he nudges the other's head ever so slightly, and as he attains no major reaction, a fair deal of tension drains from his shoulders and he tears his eyes away temporarily while keeping his other senses trained on the man in case the other would show any signs of coming to, and instead focuses his eyes on the Bat, finding himself being watched in return. Then, seeing that the Bat is still only halfway through freeing himself, the Red Hood saunters over to a nearby table where the Bat's utility belt is clearly at, and he swiftly relieves it of two pairs of bat cuffs before returning to the Joker, locking the cuffs in place before straightening up, watching as the Bat has already managed to free himself. He steps away from the Joker again and snatches a nearby grappling gun from the table, inspecting it briefly before once again focusing on the Bat, who to his surprise has yet to approach. "You should be more careful," he finds himself saying. "He's dangerous."

**- o0o -**

He doesn't remember how he got away from the Bat at that time, but he knows that it hadn't been easy for him. Still, he had managed to get away from him and had managed to stay that way for quite some time, but it seemed as though far too little time had passed since their last encounter when they met once again, one stormy night on a rooftop in Gotham.

He has been feeling off for days. Part of it is probably because he hadn't been sleeping lately, as he has been plagued by nightmares. Every time he nods off, he finds himself back in that warehouse – on the floor, bound and beaten to a bloody pulp, with that man standing over him armed with a bloodied crowbar – and then the madman – the Joker – is gone and then there are numbers – glowing numbers – ticking down, down and down until…

He is torn out of his reverie as another thunderclap resounds nearby and he shivers where he stands up on the ledge of the roof of a tall building with his thin clothes wet with rain and clinging to him seeing that he had lost his coat in a scuffle earlier that night, emerging from it with a few minor bruises and a missing coat, but then again, he had been ambushed and they had – largely – ended up in a worse state than he had up until the point when the cowards had called for backup, leaving the Red Hood to make a hasty retreat, taking to the rooftops as the scum of the streets rarely ventured up there and especially not when there was a storm brewing.

He has only just made it up to the rooftops before it starts raining, and once it starts, it pours, and with only his jeans, sneakers and his red hoodie to shield him from the elements, he knows that he shouldn't be standing where he is; he knows that he should be looking for somewhere hidden where he can dry off and further assess the situation before plotting his retaliation, but something keeps him there, even though each bolt of lightning and accompanying thunderclap causes him to startle where he stands dangerously close to the ledge.

He doesn't like lightning; it brings back bad memories, and reminds him of bad things.

There is another bolt of lightning in the skies and it is followed by a fair number of them in rapid succession, and the subsequent thunderclaps that resound following them rises to a tremendous roar which almost makes him feel like the ground is shaking beneath him, and when he finally opens his eyes – without realising he had even screwed them shut in the first place – he registers the presence of another person on the rooftop, and it is a dreadfully familiar one at that, but he still doesn't turn around to face them. Instead, he looks down, experiencing a momentary bout of vertigo before he finds himself and he turns his head ever so slightly as if to glance at the other out of the corner of his eye, even though he should really know better than to show the other his back.

He is tired – fatigued – to the extent that he wonders whether or not he would actually be doing himself a favour if he leapt off the rooftop here and now, because if he does so now, then maybe he would be able to avoid the fate of the other him, who was neither avenged nor allowed to stay dead once he had perished.

"Why did you come here?" His voice is barely more than a harsh whisper, but he knows the Bat hears him, because bats have sharp hearing even during conditions such as these. "What do you want?"

His only answer is silence, and he directs his eyes back to the cityscape below, silently contemplating his choices. In a heartbeat, he has one of his handguns out, uncocks it and them aims it at the seemingly unfazed Bat, his index finger already resting on the trigger. There is something distinctly familiar about the situation, but he pays it no heed; instead, he silently calculates the time it'll take for him to either take a shot or to point the gun at himself if such a need would arise. He will not go into either prison or juvie if he can avoid it, even if he has to take his own life to do it.

Seemingly aware of his reigning train of thought, the Bat finally speaks up. "Step away from the ledge."

It is not a request, but an order, and he finds himself snorting at it where he stands, lowering the gun but otherwise refusing to budge. "What's it to you, Bats? You don't care."

It is the other's voice rather than his own, the voice of one who feels like they have experienced the ultimate betrayal.

"What makes you say that?" the Dark Knight eventually inquires.

He is still dressed up as the Red Hood, but he is Jason through and through, and he turns around partially, watching the imposing figure of the Dark Knight of Gotham, his eyes narrowing at the sight. "Because it's the truth."

The other says nothing, so he continues instead, and he turns back to overlook the city as another bolt of lightning lights up the skies and is followed by another remarkable thunderclap. "One day, you might see it for yourself…"

"See what?" the Dark Knight repeats, and the sound of his voice is closer now.

Jason knows that he should be worried about this, but he finds that he isn't; he's too busy overlooking the cityscape below. "Ideals can blind even the best of men, not to mention the worst of them…" he says, and once again, he feels as though he is not the one speaking; he is just a medium through which the other Jason speaks, conveying words that were never said to another Batman in another time. "If you ever manage to see past yours, you'll know that I'm right – You don't really care, at all."

The other – the Bat – says nothing, but before Jason knows it, a heavy hand is just about to touch his shoulder and he cringes violently, swatting the offending limb away and raising the gun again, aiming it at the other. "Don't touch me!" he snarls, stepping to the side as stepping backwards would have been the same as stepping over the ledge and he still isn't ready for that, not even with the Bat all up in his face but still keeping his distance, approaching him much like one approaches a feral cat.

"You're shivering," the Bat says, keeping his distance though he is still far too close for comfort.

"Well, no shit, Sherlock," he snarls right back at him, taking another step away from him for good measure, even while knowing it'll hardly do him any good. "It's hardly any of your concern."

Before he knows it, a gloved hand has seized his wrist and dragged him away from the ledge, capturing his other wrist when he tries to tear himself free, capturing them both in one hand and forcing them against his chest while the other loops itself around his waist, trapping him against a much broader chest. At some point in the struggle, he loses his gun – vaguely, he hears it clutter against the floor – but he still struggles even though the other's grip on him is very much like that of a vice.

"You've been exposed to the elements for too long," the Dark Knight growls, stating the obvious.

Jason lashes out at him, though there's really little that he can do, trapped against the other's front as he is. "Let go of me, you bastard!"

"Let go of-…" It's no use. It's too much. He can't…

He can't possibly…

The Bat speaks again, but he can't hear what the other is saying; everything is blurring together. Another thunderclap resounds, and then he's gone.

**- o0o -**

It's warm; he's warmer than he has been for days, months even. Blearily, he opens his eyes, finding himself wrapped in a blanket of some sort while strapped into the passenger seat of a car he knows but has never been in. The Bat is there – in the driver's seat of the moving car – and though the man's attention is seemingly directed towards the road, he doesn't miss the look which is sent his way, signalling that the other knows that he has regained some degree of consciousness.

There are no cuffs on his wrists as far as he can tell, and that confuses him mildly, though after a few more moments of consideration, he draws the conclusion that in his current state, a mere seatbelt is enough to keep him right where he is.

"Two-Face killed my father…" he finds himself saying, and once again, he is left wondering whether or not he is actually the one speaking or if the words are another's altogether, seeing that they were originally one and the same and as such overlap despite the age difference. "With the rate he was going, it was bound to happen eventually… I knew he wasn't going to come back, so I took care of mother to the best of my ability."

"I tried to keep her away from the drugs, but I had to steal for us both and I couldn't do both. Six months ago, she overdosed, and by the time I found her, it was too late for me to do anything…" He is just rambling; he knows that, and he wonders if the Bat knows that as well. "So, what's it to you, Bat?"

"How do you know that Two-Face killed your father?" the Bat finally asks, ever the detective.

"It doesn't matter – not to me and not to you," he responds, letting his head fall to the side, averting his eyes. "I've 'fessed' up, so let me go."

The response to his demand is immediate and delivered without the least bit of hesitation. "No."

He closes his eyes, his awareness already fading. "If you intend to dump me into an orphanage or boarding school or juvie or whatever, forget about it. I'd rather kill myself than go to that kind of place…"

**- o0o -**

When he comes to again, he fully expects to find himself in some sort of facility, so the sight of the interior of a fancy bedroom – no, _suite_ – throws him off momentarily before the pieces starts falling back into place, and the picture he sees is one which makes him sit up straight all too fast, and he feels like he's going to be sick for several moments before the nausea finally subsides.

There is a soft knock on the door, but he doesn't respond. Instead, even as he hears it being unlocked, he finds himself looking down at his hands, at his clothes – a pair of silk pyjamas he has no recollection of ever having been forced into.

Then, there is an ageing man – a butler – standing in the doorway. He realises he knows this man, even though he has never met him, and he is simultaneously stricken by two very different urges; the first being to run up and hug the man and the second to scramble the Hell away from him. Taking recent events into accounts, he goes for the latter. The butler – _Alfred_, the other reminds him, _his name is Alfred_ – looks mildly surprised at this kind of display. "Will you be requiring anything, young sir?"

Jason just watches him warily.

**- o0o -**

He is wary about the man, about the place, about it all, but he finds himself warming up to them all eventually. They are all familiar to him in one way or the other, but they do take some getting used to and he is very uncomfortable, especially so whenever Bruce – the Bat's civilian persona – turns up while Jason is still confined to the room and largely to his bed for the first couple of days, physically weakened but still reasonably lucid once his initial fever had broken. The man – Bruce – talks more than his nightly counterpart. The Bat growls, and Bruce Wayne is almost chatty by comparison, trying to engage him into entering a bunch of seemingly innocent conversations about mostly casual topics. Jason mostly remained quiet throughout it all, limiting his responses to snorts and short sentences.

Then, when he is seemingly alone and awake, he gets up and sneaks out, making his way downstairs quietly with tentative but carefully measured steps. He hears the sound of the old man – of Alfred – in the kitchen, and he knows to stay clear of it, knowing well that the man would no doubt disapprove of this latest escapade of his. Alfred would no doubt disapprove, but Jason knows he cannot stay. He has to leave, for his own sake as well as theirs, and he does so quietly.

**- o0o -**

He has only just managed to get back on his feet again, having sought out and raided a few of his secret stashes to change his clothes and to rearm himself, picking his old life right up from when and where he had left it, when a dark shadow swoops down on him in a shady alleyway, and when he once again regains his senses, he is already secured in the passenger seat of the moving Batmobile.

The Bat says nothing to him – no admonishing, no nothing – and he is unsure as to whether or not he should be relieved or bothered by this.

Brought back to the manor, he makes two more escape attempts before seemingly giving in, temporarily resigning to the pitiful fate that has been carved out for him. Then, one day, Bruce presents him with a paper and a pen. He reads it slowly, his eyes widening in disbelief.

An adoption form? "No."

"Why not?"

Adopting him? "No."

"No?"

Adopting _him_? "You can't."

_Why?_

"I have the paperwork ready to be filed immediately if needed be."

"Why?"

Familiar eyes bear down upon him. There are hands clamped on his shoulders. "Because I care."

He doesn't understand it. "You don't. Not about me – just about what you think is right."

"What's wrong with doing what you think is right?" The man – Bruce – isn't listening to him; he doesn't understand. "Besides… I do care about you, believe it or not."

No.

"Jason…"

No.

"Talk to me."

_No._

It isn't real – that future; he wants no part of it. He wants no part of it precisely because he knows it; he wants no part of it because even with the times of joy that would no doubt follow, it would all come to an end eventually and what came after that just wasn't…

If he accepted it, he would end up hurting not only himself but also the man in front of him and all those around him in ways unimaginable. He had already avoided the other Jason's fate once by staying clear of stealing the Bat's tyres, so why would he…

He feels his lungs constrict. He can't breathe. He really should already have seen it coming; he should already have taken precautions to make sure it would never be, but…

"Jason?"

He screws his eyes tightly shut, a hand clutching his chest. He wills the knot there to unravel once more, but his body won't oblige and only strives to continue suffocating him from within by cutting off his capacity to retrieve oxygen, reducing it to a bare minimum from which he could not possibly continue to sustain himself.

There are hands grabbing at him, supposedly to steady him, and the voice is there again – ever familiar, both in a comforting and dreadful kind of way – but he finds can't hear it properly. He feels like he is deeply underwater, even though he knows that he is not. "Jason!"

He is pulled back down before he knows it.

**- o0o -**

He feels like he is floating in darkness, somewhere above the greatest depths and the glimmering surface somewhere above him. Then, there are voices, muffled by interference. There is the voice of a man he both loves and dreads and of a woman who is also familiar to him somehow, even though he cannot quite place her. He feels himself twitch.

"Leslie, what's the verdict?" Leslie? Leslie who?

"It's hard to tell without the test results. It could've been a reaction to the stress he's been under, but I took a few blood samples to determine whether or not there's any residue of drugs in his system. Then again, I take it you've already done so, have you not?"

Suddenly, he feels the other Jason's presence within him. "_Doctor Leslie Thompkins_," the other whispers. _"Bats…"_

"I have yet to test them."

He vividly feels the contempt of the other then, contempt alongside anger alongside bitterness alongside deep regret. _Batman_, he finds himself thinking even though the thought is not quite his own. _Ever so meticulous…_

_Why?_

He wants to ask the other, but isn't too sure that the other will hear him, and before he is able to do so, the voice of Leslie Thompkins cuts into his world again. "Contact me if you find anything. I'll do the same. Also, if he gets worse, then give me a call and I'll be right over."

Gets worse?

What?

He forces his eyes open. Afternoon daylight assaults them and he screws them right back shut, trying to roll onto his side and curl into a foetal position, choking down on a pained whimper as he does so, seeing that his limbs feel as though they had recently been penetrated by at least a thousand needles and his head is faring no better, feeling like it is about to explode at any minute.

"Jason… Jason… Are you alright?"

It is a migraine, or so he vaguely realises. It is the migraine which will end all migraines. "Hurts…"

"You had another attack." Yeah, as if that wasn't already bleeding obvious.

He wants to lash out at him, both verbally and physically, but the pain and exhaustion keeps him effectively subdued. "Figures."

He is in tatters, both his body and his mind. He feels hot yet cold. His skin feels clammy; he wants to curl up even further and to disappear back down beneath, beneath the duvets if nothing else. The outside world is too bright for him right now; it's simply too much to take in and too much to understand for him, and he wishes the man at his bedside could understand that, but with the firm hand on his shoulder, he doubts he will be having such luck.

Still, unlike both the Bruce and the Bat from the other's memories, this Bruce is firm but gentle; patient. "Jason… once the paperwork has been dealt with, I would like you to accompany me to the hospital."

He snaps his eyes right open and instinctively wrenches himself away. However, it is a feeble attempt at best and he falls back against the mattress, glaring at the other through narrowed eyes, both to show his discontent as well as to shield them somewhat from all the lights. "For what?" he snarls, and momentarily, he feels as though he and the other him have merged together to form one being and a cornered and feral one at that.

"Additional tests… to figure out the reason for the attacks."

He doesn't respond; he just glares harder instead, willing both the ache in his head and limbs as well as the man before him to go away. "No," he finally snarls, attempting to get away and hide.

Bruce however isn't having any of it, keeping him right where he is.

"Talk to me." It is not a request but an order, but the man before him is not Batman – not at the moment at any rate – and he in return is not Robin, and thus, he has no reason whatsoever to oblige.

"You'll think I'm crazy," he snarls right back at him. "You'll think I'm crazy and send me off to Arkham."

"_He already knows you're crazy_," the other's voice assures him.

"Why would I do that?" Bruce openly challenges. "Why would I think that you're crazy?"

Jason doesn't answer; he blatantly refuses to. It is a clear act of defiance, and the Bat wouldn't have had any of it. The Bat's civilian counterpart on the other hand seems to have deduced that Jason's resistance cannot be broken with harsh words or threats of punishments, so he leans down instead, rubbing his shoulder gently only to have Jason hiss as the motion jars a few of his extremely sore muscles. The hand is immediately withdrawn, but the man's presence lingers. "Jason…"

_Go away._

"I'll promise you that I won't go back on my word. No matter what you tell me, I'll still adopt you. I won't say you're crazy, and I won't send you off to Arkham. Just… trust me."

_No. Just go away._

"You're not crazy."

_You already know I'm crazy; you're just trying to determine just how mentally fucked up I am._

"Tell me." This time around, it is more of a request than an order, and however unwittingly, his resolve weakens. The result is that his mouth turns traitor on him, unable to disobey any longer.

"I see things," he hears himself say, his throat hurting every step of the way. "I know things I shouldn't. I dream."

"What do you dream about? What do you see?" Bruce asks, pausing momentarily. "What do you know?"

What _doesn't _he know? "Many things."

"Well…" There is a hint of feigned amusement to the other's tone. "We all dream, don't we?"

"You don't get it," he whispers.

"Then explain it to me, Jason," Bruce urges him. "I won't judge you."

_The Hell you will._

"I'll try my best to understand."

_You won't; you never did._

"I know locations I have never been to and people I have never met," he hears himself say. "I see them in my dreams, and I know their secret hideouts, networks and tactics. I see their plans before they do, as well as the outcomes. But… it's all in my head, and then it's not…"

It's all in his head; none of it is actually real. He's just crazy, that's all.

"You think you see the future?" There is a hint of scepticism to the other's tone, just like expected, even though it has been toned down a whole lot, presumably under the guise of politeness.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" It isn't a question, not really; it's more of a statement, really.

There is a brief pause, and then Bruce speaks up once more. "To be completely honest, I'm not entirely sure as to what I should think," he says, even though Jason is positive the man has made his mind up already, if not a long, long time ago. "But you have dreams – visions even. Then what?"

Bruce already thinks he's crazy, so what more does he have to lose?

"I didn't think much of it at first," he finally whispers. "They were just weird dreams to me back then. They came and they went – the nightmares – but then I noticed it…"

He has nothing to win, but nothing to lose either, seeing that he is quite positive that he has lost whatever remnants he might have had of his sanity already. "Nearly all the things I saw – the locations, the people – were real, and that I knew things I shouldn't have. I tried acting on it – this knowledge I shouldn't have had…"

"Is that how you knew?" The sudden question throws him off momentarily, and he cracks an eye open, blearily taking in his surroundings.

"Is that how you knew my identity?" Bruce clarifies, too close for comfort yet strangely comforting at the same time. "Have you had dreams about me as well? It sounds strange, I have to admit as much, but I've heard of far stranger things."

He doesn't answer, screwing his eyes back shut.

"Jason?"

"You don't believe me," he snorts.

"As I said," Bruce went on. "I'm not entirely sure as to what I should think."

Jason cracks his eyes open again, looking up at the man. Seconds go by and neither of them speak, and then, finally…

"What would you do…" Jason swallows, before trying anew. "What would you do… if you already knew your own future?"

Bruce looks mildly puzzled. "Tough question."

Jason just continues looking at him unwaveringly even if his eyes and head and everything hurt like he wouldn't believe it. "Would you strive to change it?"

"Perhaps," the man finally affirms after a brief pause. "If I didn't want it."

Jason vividly recalls never-ending nightmares of warehouses, laughter, the Joker, a bloodied crowbar and numbers – glowing numbers – ticking down, down and down, until…

"And if it's inevitable?"

Tick, tick, tock.

**- o0o -**


	2. Part Two

**Part Two** (Out of Three)

**- o0o -**

"_As long as I can remember, I've been seeing things…"_

**- o0o -**

"_**Things?"**_

**- o0o -**

"_Mostly I just dream about them, and other times, I just know… Bruce calls them visions, but he hasn't figured out what triggers them yet. The general thing is that the more vivid things I see, the greater the backlash I get. Bruce thinks I black out then because of sensory overload; my mind just can't keep up with it all."_

**- o0o -**

"_**Is it dangerous?"**_

**- o0o -**

"_Depends. I have certainly dropped and hit my head a few times, but most of the time I manage to secure a good landing spot before I do. Oh, and my head is usually killing me afterwards."_

**- o0o -**

"_**So… you've got some kind of precognition or what?"**_

**- o0o -**

"_I don't think so."_

**- o0o -**

"_**Then what? Prophetic dreams?"**_

**- o0o -**

"_**Aw, come on. I'm just messing with you. Go on, tell me more."**_

**- o0o -**

"_Most of the time, I see just flashes of things, but sometimes, I get more vivid pictures. However, while this world and the one I see share certain similarities, they are different from each other."_

**- o0o -**

"_**How so?"**_

**- o0o -**

"_The other world is several years ahead of us, so I'm really just catching flashes of things that have already taken place over there, some of which are reflected in one way or another in this universe."_

**- o0o -**

"_**You keep dreaming of a parallel universe then?"**_

**- o0o -**

"_I guess."_

**- o0o -**

"_**Do you know why?"**_

**- o0o -**

"_Not really. I have a few guesses though…"_

**- o0o -**

"_**Would you care to share?"**_

**- o0o -**

This time around, Jason doesn't become the second Robin – not officially at any rate.

Richard Grayson – Dick, Goldie and all that – isn't around. Just like in the other Jason's world, the first Robin had been shot by the Joker, spooking the Bat to the extent that he tried to force the other to retire. Then again, as is normally the case with headstrong idiots, it had caused quite a bit of fallout, prompting the older teen to skip town and to stay with the Titans or whomever, to the growing frustration of his former mentor. Then again, there were certainly differences too, seeing that this Dick Grayson had no reason to scorn the Bat for taking Jason in, seeing that the Bat seemed to have no intention whatsoever in terms of having Jason enter in the hero business, at least not until the latter had been given a clean bill of health.

Either way, without Jason succeeding him as Robin acting as a wedge in the occasionally hostile relationship between Dick and Bruce, the day eventually comes when they meet and when they do so, it is in the aftermath of Jason actually borrowing the other's old costume in order to act as a decoy.

Wearing the other's costume – and in a way, the other's legacy – isn't what Jason wanted, but with Bruce's life hanging in the balance at the time, he had known that doing so would work in his favour in battling the Joker. Then, with the whole matter having been dealt with, Jason had not thought anything more would come of it, only to return home one day – from the school Bruce had forced him to enrol in – to find that the prodigal son had returned, no doubt to demand to have his legacy returned to him. Fortunately though, Jason – having laid eyes on the other's quite fancy motorcycle upon getting home – had seen it coming and had headed right to the cave instead, opting to delay a direct confrontation for as long as he could, or at least until someone else could hopefully explain to the possibly irate man in his late teens or early twenties – whichever it was – that Jason had only pulled such a move as a last resort to minimise the potential loss of human lives and whatnot.

Then again, in hindsight, hiding it out down in the cave probably hadn't been his brightest idea, seeing to the fact that it was the very place Dick Grayson went looking for him next…

"Yo. Jason, was it?" The young man makes his way down into the cave, his voice echoing against cave walls. "I heard about what you did."

Jason – occupied with his latest homework assignment – doesn't look up, even as the approaching footsteps come to a stop somewhere in his immediate vicinity. "Are you angry?" he asks instead, frowning down at the math problem before him.

"Why would I be angry?" Dick Grayson asks, looming over him. "Admittedly, I'm not happy about the fact that you brought my old costume out and all, but you had your reasons, even though I can't say that I agree with your actions…"

Jason still doesn't look up. Instead, he scribbles down the answer to the math problem before him and moves onto the next one. "I won't steal it from you, you know…" he finally says, nearly mumbling and quietly hating himself for sounding so utterly adolescent and pathetic, but then again – all things considered – that could just have been the other influencing him again.

"Steal what?"

"Robin." Honestly, what could he possibly be stealing otherwise?

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Dick Grayson turns his head to look at his old costume where it is in the display case, once again restored to the place where it should be. "Why would I think you'd steal it from me? It isn't like wearing the costume once is going to…"

_Exactly._ Jason turns his attention back to his homework. "Good. Then we're on the same page."

Then, suddenly, Dick Grayson is way too close, leaning in seemingly to have a closer look at whatever he's doing. "You don't want to become Robin then?" the former Robin asks. "Weird. Normally, I'd think a kid would jump at the chance without any thought as to the danger, but I guess you're different, huh?"

Jason shoots a quick look up at the man before once again focusing on his homework. "Not really."

For a while, there is silence, and the silence is weird, especially so when considering the company. The Dick Grayson – or Goodie-two-shoes or Goldie or whichever names the other Jason chooses to address him with – of the other Jason's memories is certainly chatty and a bit too much at that, good-natured and heroic to a fault even though he also possesses a stubborn streak and a type of bullheadedness which ultimately put him at odds with the Bat. Then again, that Dick Grayson – and likely the one before him as well – is a performer at heart and really, if the reason for the rift had been the same as with the other Grayson, Jason thought it was no wonder the other finally snapped when the Bat sought to take all that – Robin and all – away from him. After all, if one had taught a bird to fly freely, one should hardly be expecting gratefulness for having clipped its wings, even with the motivation that said bird would no doubt live a little longer.

Then again, it is really no wonder that Jason finds that he can relate; he hasn't been with Bruce for that long considering everything, but even so, he is going a bit stir-crazy occasionally since Bruce – even after Jason has been given a clean bill of health – still refuses to allow him to engage in any sort of fieldwork and allows only training down at the cave and studies so that he can still be useful even outside of the field. Then again, it isn't as though Jason himself plays by the rules now, is it?

"Hey, wait a sec…"

He looks up suddenly, a bit taken by surprise as the other grabs the back of his chair and swivels it around so that they come face to face at a very, very, very – _uncomfortably_ – close range.

"That's it, isn't it?" Dick says, a hint of triumph to his voice as though he has just solved a great mystery of some sort. "You're afraid, aren't you?"

A mixture of a wry smile and a grimace threatens to break out on his face, but he forces his facial expression to remain nearly indifferent. "Perhaps."

"Why?" Dick asks as Jason escapes the chair to put some additional space between them. "Just because, or do you know something that the rest of us don't?"

Jason narrows his eyes slightly, keeping his back to the other as he responds. "How much exactly has Bruce told you about me?"

He hears the other approach but doesn't move.

"About you? Nothing much," Dick eventually responds, no doubt accompanying his response with a casual shrug. "Most of the stuff I know about you is stuff that I've read, seeing that people are making a bit of a fuss over him suddenly adopting a street kid like you." – There is a slight pause, and then a question, one which the other has no doubt been itching to ask for ages now. – "Is there anything in particular that I should know about?"

Jason still doesn't turn, knowing well that the other is extremely unlikely to jump him while he has his back turned, him being a potential usurper or not. "If Bruce hasn't told you, that's fine. If you stay around me for long, you'll find out eventually, and if you don't stay, then you don't really need to know."

He really doesn't need to know; no one really needs to know.

"Aw, come on. Now you've made me curious…" Dick Grayson has at some point caught up with him and circles him almost like a lion does an injured prey, only waiting to pounce at it. "Tell you what… if you tell me your secret, I'll tell you some of Bruce's?"

Jason – though unnerved – allows himself a snort of amusement. "And if I know them already?" he drawls right back at him, tired of playing around.

The other's pacing pauses momentarily and a grin crosses the acrobat's face. "Then I'll draw my own conclusions and pin you down as a psychic."

Jason narrows his eyes slightly, annoyed. "I'm not a psychic."

The acrobat lets out an exaggerated sign of relief. "Good, because I would probably have had a few problems in dealing with that," he says, scratching his head. "So, what are you exactly?"

This time around, Jason frowns openly at him. "You're trying to fool me."

"Maaaaybe."

"I don't like you."

"Ouch. That's harsh, Little Wing."

_Little Wing? _He feels a tug on his lips, a smile threatening to break out on his face again. This time however, he clearly feels the presence of the other Jason within him and for once the other isn't bitter or angry but actually wryly amused. "You really don't change, do you?"

"Sorry, what?"

Dick stares at him openly now, curiously. He feigns innocence; at least to the extent such a thing is possible for a person like him. "Did I say anything?"

Dick Grayson gives him this long look, seemingly intent on figuring him out but not quite sure as to how to do it before shrugging mildly, putting a hand on top of Jason's head, ruffling his hair. "But it's okay, you know… to step up as Robin every once in a while. After all, when stuff becomes too overwhelming, even B could use some help…"

Jason swats the hand away, shooting an annoyed look in the other's general direction all while the other goes on, prattling as usual. "I have Nightwing now, as well as the Titans," Dick says. "So, you know… Robin is yours to borrow for a while if you feel like it."

Jason doesn't let his surprise show; instead, he makes this slight grimace all while trying to keep his face reasonably straight. "I don't want it."

Dick admonishes him in return, positively leering down at him. "Don't lie; I can clearly see that you want it."

"I don't," Jason responds, because even if a part of him does, an even greater part of him doesn't.

"Liar."

He snorts, now positive the other is just taunting him, messing about as usual. "Suit yourself."

"Nah, but I'd rather think it'd suit you."

He finally looks up at the former Robin, studying the other's facial expression for a brief moment before letting out an annoyed huff. "You're fucking weird."

The smile playing on the other's lips only widens in return. "Perhaps, but don't let Alfred hear you say that; he'll force you to clean your mouth with soap."

_Really?_ "Would not."

"Would too; I should know."

"Isn't that child abuse?"

"…I think it falls underneath 'normal disciplinal measures', but I could be wrong."

**- o0o -**

In the end – and probably as a bit of a surprise them both – they did hit it off and form at least a decent platonic relationship of some sort, and in the end, the aforementioned connection also has the fairly unintentional side effect of making the relationship between Dick and Bruce as well as between the former Robin and the Bat a tad less hostile, allowing the former partners to establish and retain some sort of working relationship, on a personal level as well as on a professional one as Dick had taken up residence in the nearby city of Blüdhaven after likely having had some sort of dispute of his own with the Teen Titans or whomever, seeing that the other seemed perfectly happy to work alone for once and in a shitty town at that, one where he certainly had his work cut out for him, being the only vigilante foolish enough to move in to protect it.

Even though Jason has never been there personally – not in his own body at least, seeing that he cannot even recall having left the city of Gotham in his entire life – he still recalls it vividly; Blüdhaven, grimy and gory in all its glory or possibly lack thereof with crime rates so high they could possibly touch the sky – at least in a figurative manner – and where the officers designated to uphold the law were more often than not just as bad and corrupted as the criminals they had been hired to apprehend in the first place. As such, even with a hero's limited instinct for self-preservation, it should have been obvious that the city of Blüdhaven was so much more than just a gathering place for criminals and occasionally even the criminally insane; it was also a possible death-trap for whichever poor sod of a vigilante set his or her foot there.

Then again, even while knowing all that, Dick just had to take on the perceived challenge to set that godforsaken town straight, and with his level of persistence, Jason supposes the guy might even make it – for a while at any rate – seeing that while Blüdhaven is bad, it is also relatively poor, and the worst of the criminal and criminally insane generally prefers Gotham over Blüdhaven, seeing that the former did contain certain pockets of unbelievable wealth, some pockets of which either directly belonged to or were closely associated to Bruce Wayne or his company. Then again, a general preference does not necessarily mean entirely exclusive, and after a major breakout from Arkham, a bunch of criminals – with or without having pled insanity at some point – end up in Blüdhaven, leaving Nightwing to try to contain them.

Whether as a member of a team or as an independent, Nightwing is both trained and skilled enough to take down foes much stronger than himself. He is – by all means – competent enough to take down anyone of Batman's rogue gallery as long as he is adequately prepared for the task at hand. In the end however, he is only one man against many.

He is nearly unconscious when Jason finds him, cuffed to a chair with bleeding wounds, a few dislocated limbs and multiple abrasions. Thankfully – well, for the Bat at any rate – the other's mask is still in place.

Jason – knowing that his time is limited – immediately sets to work on the cuffs, speaking softly. "How bad is it?"

The other's body tenses slightly before once again loosening up as the other releases a shuddering breath which is interrupted by a pained hiss. _Possible broken ribs then_, Jason swiftly concludes.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Nightwing claims rather stubbornly, but he remains in his somewhat slumped position in the chair.

"That isn't really telling me anything," Jason responds, unlocking the handcuffs and depositing them onto the floor so that he can get to work on the other restraints.

Nightwing lifts his head slightly, likely to look at him, but there is something distinctly sluggish about the motion. "How did you track me down so quickly?" the other asks, sounding even groggier than before. "I thought the Joker and the others…"

Jason quietly adds _possible concussion_ to his list before responding, unlocking the second pair of cuffs and depositing them in the same manner before straightening up. "They did."

"Then how?" Nightwing asks, freed from his bonds but still in the chair, looking at him as though they are not running out of time already. "How?"

Jason just snorts at him, grabbing hold of his arm and pulling him up into a standing position and shouldering the major part of the other's weight as he nearly crumbles on top of him, choking on an agonised scream from the sounds of it. Jason feels a bit guilty about this, but it lasts only for a moment. Besides, considering the situation they're in and the tight time schedule they are on, he really cannot afford to be gentle. "Explanations can come later," he says, dragging the other along with him towards a hidden backdoor. "We need to get out of here now."

It takes a lot of effort – mostly on his part – but they do manage to get out and manage to put just enough distance between themselves and the building Nightwing had been kept in before it suddenly blows up, no doubt due to the massive bomb the Joker had courteously enough left to keep Nightwing company whilst the madman and his temporary allies and minions went on with whichever devilish scheme they had planned to confront the Bat with, seeing that there was hardly a reason to leave a guard with someone who was obviously going to be blown up anyway, hadn't it been for the interference.

Said building is now a burning inferno, lighting up the Blüdhaven night as Nightwing – who is still concussed but now highly alert courtesy of the bomb just going off – finally notices Jason's attire chosen for the occasion. "Why are you dressed like that?"

He can't help but shift a bit self-consciously at the other's remark, seeing that his attire has the appearance of being entirely civilian if one disregards the black domino mask on his face. Still, though seemingly civilian, the attire – consisting of a pair of dark jeans along with a red hoodie – is hardly any different from the one he wore back in the days whilst making his living as the Red Hood, and the realisation of that unnerves him, seeing that it had hardly been a conscious decision on his part to mimic his old style for an event like this. However, judging from the honest curiosity and lack of disapproval in the other's voice, he finds himself doubting that Nightwing has made the same connection as he has. "I can't be Robin all the time," Jason finally responds. "At times, I too need to breathe."

He can't be Robin; he couldn't be Robin, because he would never be good enough.

Nightwing laughs somewhat awkwardly in response, using a nearby wall for support. "Yeah… I can kind of relate…"

"Stay awake," Jason tells him. "Concussed or not, I can't bloody carry you on my own."

"Where's B?" Nightwing asks.

"He's confronting them."

"He sent you here to get me?"

Silence.

Jason takes a deep breath before answering. "He told me to stay at home."

"Ah." There is no surprise in the other's voice or in their facial expression or in their body language. "You know, at times, I really can't help but wonder…"

Jason swiftly adds _possible delirium_ to his mental list. "Wonder what?"

He can feel eyes on him, watching him blearily but intently, but he does not look up, keeping a keen eye out for possible threats instead.

"You sound so much older at times…"

Hearing this, Jason snorts openly in disbelief. "Isn't that just your concussion speaking?" he drawls right back at the other, receiving a bleak but honest smile in return.

"Maybe."

**- o0o -**

In the end, Nightwing blacks out before Batman turns up and stays unconscious for almost a week in his old room at the manor whilst under the watchful eye of not only Bruce and Alfred but also a regularly visiting Leslie Thompkins. However, seeing that some people have other duties to attend to occasionally, Jason finds himself the sole person at Dick Grayson's bedside whilst Alfred is down in the kitchen making lunch and Bruce is over at Wayne Tech, no doubt catching up on some of the work he has been neglecting as of late. Jason himself is at home because the school is on a short break, and since he too has stuff to catch up on, he occupies himself with his latest English assignment, or at least he does up until the point when a raspy but familiar voice speaks up and a hand reaches out for him, a hand which he finds himself grasping gently but instinctively, even though such sentimental gestures do not agree with the other him and are mostly foreign to him in general.

"Hey…"

Dick's bruises are already on the mend; as are his ribs.

"How's your head?" Jason asks, finding his choice of conversational topics rather limited.

The other's fingers squeeze his own slightly, likely intended as a reassuring gesture. "I feel like… I got hit by a running train, if you get what I mean."

"You're lucky you didn't get blown up by a bomb," Jason snaps right back at him.

The other looks mildly taken aback for a moment before chuckling softly. "Ah… I guess…" Dick says, a grin threatening to break out on his still bruised face. "You're worried about me. Yay, I'm so happy."

For once, both Jason and the other Jason are in total agreement. "Idiot."

Dick on the other hand doesn't seem to take his word to heart, eyeing him in a somewhat unnerving manner instead. "So… correct me if I'm wrong but… didn't you promise me something?"

Jason responds immediately, without skipping a beat. "No."

"Hey," Dick protests and as Jason withdraws, he waves after him a bit feebly. "You totally did. You promised me an explanation."

"I didn't."

With some degree of effort, Dick rolls onto the side which doesn't have any fractured ribs, still grinning but seemingly unwavering in his resolve. "Yeah, you totally did. So… 'fess up, lil'bro."

Jason just snorts at him, collecting his stuff and rising from the chair.

"I'm waiting," Dick says, continuing to eye him keenly, even as Jason – more than a tad unnerved – looks just about ready to bolt. "Take your time."

"Come on," Dick says, keeping his grin even as he goes through the possibly painstaking effort of throwing his hand out to grasp the edge of Jason's sleeve, which had been just within his reach. "I promise not to make a big deal out of it."

Still unnerved and a bit unimpressed by the other's display, Jason tries to pry the other's fingers off of him, only to have his own wrist seized in return and squeezed up until a point when it is almost painful.

"I'll let you borrow my extra pair of escrima sticks…" Dick promises, still smiling broadly even though his bated breathing is a clear testament of the amount of pain he is no doubt in.

_At this rate, you'll make Goldie hurt himself further_, the other Jason whispers to him, sounding both amused and disdainful. _Daddy bats will kill you if he finds out…_

"Fine," Jason snorts and reclaims his seat in the chair. "As long as I can remember, I've been seeing things…" Seeing things and being watched in return.

"Things?" Dick questions and he averts his eyes.

"Mostly I just dream about them, and other times, I just know…" – At times, he just knows. At other times, the other seems to speak to him directly from the beyond. – "Bruce calls them visions, but he hasn't figured out exactly what triggers them yet. The general thing is that the more vivid things I see, the greater the backlash I get. Bruce thinks I black out then because of sensory overload; my mind just can't keep up with it all."

"Is it dangerous?"

He shrugs mildly in response. "Depends. I have certainly dropped and hit my head a few times, but most of the time I manage to secure a good landing spot before I do. And my head is usually killing me afterwards."

Dick looks at him curiously. "So… you've got some kind of precognition or what?"

Jason just snorts at this. "I don't think so."

"Then what? Prophetic dreams?" Dick is positively leering at him again, continuing to keep one of Jason's hands hostage to prevent him from trying to leave again. "Aw, come on. I'm just messing with you. Go on, tell me more."

Jason looks from the other to the fingers trapping his, frowning openly until the other finally gets it and lets go of them. "Most of the time, I just see flashes of things, but sometimes, I get more vivid pictures," he finally reveals. "However, while this world and the one I see are similar, they are different from each other."

"How so?"

How _not_? "The other world is several years ahead of us, so I'm really just catching flashes of things that have already taken place over there, some of which are reflected in one way or another in this universe."

Dick blinks openly. "You keep dreaming of a parallel universe then?"

"I guess," Jason responds.

"Do you know why?"

_He thinks you're crazy_, the other Jason says, snickering. _He thinks you're crazy and that Bruce should have you committed._

Jason ignores him. "Not really. I have a few guesses though…"

"Would you care to share?"

He hesitates, unsure as to how to formulate himself. "The things I see…" he begins a bit vaguely, intentionally refraining from mentioning the things he hears. "It's memories – I think – memories of my other self."

Momentarily, Dick looks dumbfounded. Then, he looks intrigued. "Your other self? Really? Why would his memories be seeping into you?"

_Why indeed?_ "If I had to guess, I'd say it's probably that."

"_That_ being…?"

"That he's in a coma or something – not quite alive, but not quite dead either."

The other Jason suddenly goes eerily silent, as if the aforementioned realisation had just struck him as well.

"Well…" Dick says, sounding both thoughtful and amused. "That's a theory."

Jason gets up from the chair again. "You're just thinking I'm making this all up, aren't you?"

Dick smiles at him a bit sheepishly. "Quite frankly, I'm not entirely sure as to what to think. I mean, I'm friends with aliens who have similar abilities to perceive things and all, but you…"

Jason is already out the door.

**- o0o -**

A week later, Dick is almost completely recovered from his ordeal, but still remains at the manor, seemingly intent on making Jason's life difficult. "Say, Jaybird…"

Jason – down in the cave, busy with browsing through a few of Batman's files – feels a sudden urge to roll his eyes. "What do you want, Dick?"

Dick – his arm still in a sling but well on his feet otherwise – looms over him from behind, leaning against the back of the chair. "That alternate self of yours… what's he like anyway?" the acrobat asks, no doubt unable to let go of the matter. "Are you like the same or…?"

Jason wants to snap at the man, but refrains from doing so since doing so would hardly help his case. "We're not."

"Hoh?"

_Really, so annoying._ "He's a lot angrier than I ever was, angrier and bitterer about the way his life turned out, and in his case, I guess he had a right to be."

"What happened?"

What _didn't_ happen? "He got killed… and he came back, only to realise that no one had avenged him."

Now that brings the other to a pause. "Wait… he died, and then he came back? _How?_"

"Lazarus," Jason say, as if that explained everything, which it kind of does. "Before that, he was the second Robin, until the Joker blew him up. Afterwards he came back, initially set on some sort of revenge and then on proving a point by going after the third Robin, before taking over the drug trade as a way of controlling it, scaring criminals into submission…"

"Did he succeed?"

"To a certain extent."

"And then what?"

Jason shrugs mildly in response. "Stuff happened. Bruce's bastard son Damian turned up and grabbed the position of Robin for himself. Batman seemingly died, leaving my other self, you and the Red Robin to fight over the cowl, and… well… then he came back and stuff."

Actually, saying it out loud, that part makes even less sense than it had made in his head, and apparently, Dick has just as much of a problem to wrap his mind around it. "Wait, let me see if I got this right… Bruce's son – _By whom?_ – turned up and became the new Robin. Then Batman died – _but not really_ – and I, you and some guy called Red Robin fought over the cowl – _Who won by the way?_ – and then Bruce came back and things went back to normal or something – normal by Gotham and hero standards, mind you, not the actual normal ones?"

_Who indeed?_ "Damian al Ghul, son of Talia, grandson of Ra's, took the position of Robin from… the third Robin, who instead became the Red Robin, and then he, you and my other self fought for the cowl and you won, forming a team with the de-… with Damian. And yeah, then Bruce came back and things went back to normal. Sort of."

_Sort of. Yeah, pretty much._

"I somehow find this all very hard to believe."

_Says the guy who tried to get hitched to an alien princess from a couple of galaxies away_, the other Jason comments, leaving Jason himself to snort with barely contained laughter. "Tell me about it."

**- o0o -**


	3. Part Three

_This is **not** my best piece; that much I am very much willing to admit. In any case, faults aside, I somewhat belatedly present you with _**Part Three** _(Out of Three, though it_ c_ould__ be extended if there is a sufficient amount of interest. If not, then I'll just move along.) _

_Cheers._

**- o0o -**

"_Am I dead?"_

**- o0o -**

"_Is this…?"_

**- o0o -**

He used to be a kid of the streets. Now he has a home, but he still wanders the streets and roams the rooftops at night-time, with or without Batman's or Bruce's approval, seeing that he is certainly old and competent enough to decide that for himself, technically a minor or not. Even so, when he does venture out into the night without the Bat's approval, he does so as the Red Hood rather than as Robin, seeing that the latter is far too famous and far too connected to the Bat to be even remotely convenient. The identity of the Red Hood has been used and reused by many and for many purposes, and the impression he himself once made as a thief under the aforementioned moniker is but a fading one, kept alive only by those still harbouring some sort of grudge.

Though his moniker is the same as his old one, his image differs. Now he is not strictly a thief but rather a vigilante and broker specialising in sabotage and surveillance rather than in violence, but certainly very much capable of all them, as he has proved repeatedly to those seeking to interfere with him and his work. As the Red Hood, he is not an open ally of the Bat or of any professed hero or vigilante operating in Gotham or elsewhere; for the right price and the right reasons, he'll supply just about anyone who hasn't been blacklisted with some sort of information as long as he is granted an adequate amount of compensation for it. Then again, he obviously knows better than to sell others information that will put either him as a person or someone he knows at risk, because that is just plain self-preservation on his part, both because he would rather not be hounded for it if he could avoid it, and the Bat would most certainly hunt him down in case he ever sold any info that would possibly come to compromise the identity of the man or any of said man's occasional allies.

He is not an open ally of anyone as the Red Hood, but he is in an openly antagonistic relationship with the Joker and the aforementioned madman's associates, and as such, he is naturally one to interfere whenever the aforementioned madman is planning something nefarious, and attacking a semi-retired Batgirl – Barbara Gordon – in her home with the intention of getting to not only her father James Gordon but also the Bat by association is not okay in either Jason's book, so when he learns of it he immediately leaks the information to the Bat and to Nightwing and involves himself in preventing it from occurring.

Once the potential catastrophe has been seemingly averted or at least postponed for the foreseeable future, Barbara Gordon approaches him, no doubt having uncovered the full extent of his interference, likely through hacking into the bat computer to access the Bat's locked archive using her vastly superior intellect, extensive knowledge of computers and technology and whatnot. Like Dick, she is admittedly curious about what she perceives as some sort of extrasensory ability, viewing it primarily as some sort of heightened intuition rather than as a direct connection to another self in another world.

In the other Jason's world, Barbara Gordon got paralysed from the waist down and was forced to retire from active duty, entering a bout of depression before re-entering the stage as a hacker and information broker codenamed Oracle who eventually founded the team the Birds of Prey along with other female heroes such as Black Canary and Huntress. In Jason's eyes, she is far too vigorous, far too caring and far too great a hero to be bound to a wheelchair for the rest of her life, and with her remaining active as Batgirl, it cuts down on the work Jason had to do as Robin, enabling him to focus more on his civilian life and education.

Admittedly, Jason himself is by no means nearly as clever as either Dick or Barbara, but with them getting engaged along the way and with them both dropping in to see him at the manor from time to time even while keeping in contact with him otherwise he occasionally consults either on mostly education-related issues. And, somewhere along the way, one Timothy Drake – the one the other Jason calls _the Replacement_ – enters their lives, and Jason himself – though naturally wary, seeing that he is well aware of the possible repercussions of involving the aforementioned boy – experiences a strange feeling of urgency to ensure that the other receives some sort of training, knowing well that it would at some point be put to good use.

Naturally though, the other Jason quite openly disapproves when Jason drops the not so subtle hint to Dick that Tim had been the third Robin in the other Jason's world, even going as far as to subtly prompt the other into bestowing the title of Robin upon this so called Replacement, seeing that Jason himself finds that he would rather let someone else bear the name of Robin, seeing that he himself had neither been suited for nor quite happy with it in the first place, even disregarding the fact that he is still plagued by nightmares set in the other Jason's world; of the death of his other self.

It is not yet known to him if he can truly prevent the things he has seen from occurring in some manner, or if he is only able to postpone them for an indeterminate amount of time. It is not yet known to him, so he – in a truly paranoid and bat-like manner – has already made preparations for the worst, as well as constructed a bunch of contingency plans should he ever be in need of them. Still, with all his paranoia and contingency plans, he still fails to factor in at least one variable of greater importance…

The other Jason did a job as Robin, largely overcoming his faults and dying as a good soldier. Jason himself on the other hand passes the title on as though he had been holding onto either a hot potato or a hand grenade set to go off at any moment, hoping dearly that the curse of the Robins did not pass along with it, because unlike his counterpart, Jason has no reason to hold a grudge against Tim, who is far too clever, mildly socially awkward and always eager to please in Jason's opinion.

That aside, he also underestimated another thing – something which is largely unrelated to his very brief run as Robin but still relevant to the situation as a whole; his own importance, to Bruce in particular.

"You've got sharper instincts than I thought."

He doesn't know the man – not personally at any rate – but he knows of him.

_Why is he here? Isn't hounding Nightwing more of Deathstroke's M.O.? _

"What do you want?" He knows he shouldn't ask, but views it as a way to buy some time, seeing that he has already sent out a distress signal minutes earlier, having caught on to the unnerving presence stalking him.

"Do you know who I am, Red Hood?"

He feigns ignorance, shifting his stance. "Should I?"

He is the Red Hood now – _not Robin_ – and the Red Hood fears and bows to no one.

"I have to say that I was rather surprised at seeing you out here without your minder…"

_Creep._

"What do you want?"

There is a bit of static in his earpiece, with Nightwing quietly announcing that his ETA is two minutes away, meaning that Jason has to keep Deathstroke occupied until then, which is certainly easier said than done.

"What do _I_ want?" – He is positive that there is a grin directed at him, or at least something to the like, but he doesn't see it. – "I am a mercenary – this is about what _my employer_ wants."

The other Jason is watching again, highly attentive.

Jason has already made preparations for the worst. Admittedly, he is still afraid of dying, but finds the alternative much more frightening. If that is truly his future, then he really wants no part of it.

He vividly remembers another nightly rooftop meeting, standing up on the edge of a tall building in the midst of a great thunderstorm, drenched and shivering in his thin clothes.

He finally turns around; his trusted guns loaded and ready to be used along with the numerous batarangs he has hidden on his person. Had Bruce – or the Bat for that matter – seen him do that, the other would no doubt have disapproved of his usage of guns. Still, though he – unlike the other Jason – doesn't kill as a matter of principle, he still feels safer knowing that he has them, seeing that all weapons – be they batarangs or other things – can ultimately come to naught in the face of an opponent either stronger or smarter or both physically and intellectually superior, and naturally, Deathstroke just happens to be the latter.

Jason takes a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling once-twice-trice and then the battle is on.

In the end, he knows quite well that he cannot win; to win he would need access to far more favourable circumstances. As such, in the end, he knows he can possibly stall the other at best, and reinforcements are on their way; he can only hope that it would not be too late by then.

In his mind, the other Jason taunts him.

**- o0o -**

Darkness.

He feels as though he is deeply underwater, floating in the midst of a sea of liquid darkness in-between the deep depths and the unseen surface. There are voices all around him; voices along with the constant beeping of some sort of monitoring equipment.

"_Where…?"_

Then, the full force of a cascade of memories hit him, nearly drowning him. There are flashes and voices and static and everything; snapshots of memories that aren't his own.

"_Jason?"_

The other Jason's memories slam right into him with a great deal of force, and he momentarily loses sight of himself, fading in and out of a state of seeming awareness amongst the voices surrounding him.

"_The return of Jason doesn't change anything at all…"_

Those words alone are sufficient to snap him right back into awareness, because he remembers this and he remembers this vividly, and in doing so, he also recalls his own situation. "Jason?" he calls out into the darkness again, and strangely enough, the voices all fade to echoes and then ring out completely, leaving him in a strange kind of silence which frightens him even more.

"Am I dead?" he finds himself whispering instead, sitting down and pulling his knees up close, hugging them. "Is this…?"

"_It's goddamn limbo,"_ the other Jason's voice rings out from somewhere above. _"And I spent years in it without whining back when I was the one stuck in your head…"_

Oh.

"What happened?" Jason cannot refrain from asking. "How did I-…?"

"_Geez, kid… how the Hell should I know?"_ the other Jason responds. _"Now kindly shut up for a bit; I have an institution to break out of and I need all the concentration I can get, okay?"_

He keeps quiet; trying to adjust within what is probably the other Jason's mind, feeling the other's movements like small tremors. It's a bloody weird sensation, because even while knowing that he is not there physically he lies down on something akin to a floor, silently wondering just why someone's mind would have floors anyway, but then again, since people's minds were generally surrounded by some sort of walls, it only made sense that one of them could serve as a floor to any unfortunate trespasser who had somehow made it in and now had virtually no idea as to how to get out. If his own theories in regards to the other Jason's stay in his own mind had been accurate, then Jason supposes it would only be fair to assume that he himself had ended up in the other's head through at least vaguely similar means. But then…

"I'm alive…"

"_Well, good for you,"_ the other Jason drawls. _"And I did just tell you to kindly shut the fuck up, didn't I?"_

**- o0o -**

When he resurfaces, he finds that his surroundings no longer consist of dense darkness; he has no idea about the mechanics of it all, but he is closer to the surface now – somehow – and as such perfectly capable of observing it all. However you look at it, it is an ever-changing and distinctly surreal landscape, and as such, Jason finds it hard to navigate. The only constant in it is the memories that lie scattered about on this vast surface; they seem almost like pieces of glass to him, and he treads carefully even though he doubts he would be able to cut himself up on such things. A glimpse of something in one of them has him pause and crouch down to have a closer look at it.

"Shelia," he finally says, having identified the image of the woman from the other Jason's memories. "Your mother."

He hears a snort and looks up, eyes slightly alit with anticipation, knowing he will be hearing an answer. _"Mother?"_ the other Jason drawls, his voice a mixture of irritation, wry amusement and an undeniable hint of bitterness. _"Nope, just the bitch that brought me into this world; she left me behind and then sold me out to an enemy. My mother is Catherine Todd and less than ideal or not, I will have no other."_

"She died in the explosion," Jason says, knowing well that he is treading on some very thin ice.

Instead of anger, there is laughter. _"Yes,"_ the other Jason says. _"And so did I… However, unlike her, I came back on my own and dug myself out of my own coffin. The Lazarus Pit didn't restore my life but it did wake me up, even if it might've warped my personality a bit along the way. Still…"_

"You're angry about your death."

"_I'm not pissed off about my death,"_ the other Jason drawls right back at him. "_I'm pissed off at the fact that no one avenged me. The Joker fucking tortured me, beating me senseless with a crowbar before blowing me up; he killed me, so the least anyone should have done was to kill him. Not that I'm particularly religious or anything, but think of it as divine retribution."_

"I understand your anger. But…"

"_But…?"_

He understands it; he himself has borne witness to the circumstances that brought it about, but he still can't…

"I never led your life," he finally responds. "I never experienced what you experienced in person. I dreamt nightmares about what had happened to you, but even so I can't imagine what you went through. I saw, but I did not have the same connection as you did, but I…"

There is a slight pause, and he interprets it as the other being surprised. _"You saw what happened to me and you feared you would end up just like me,"_ the other Jason finally says, and Jason finds himself picturing the other sitting in a window, reloading one of his handguns. _"Bitter… resentful… violent…deadly… But you're wrong. I was angry at the world long before the Bat and long before I took a dip in the pit. Truthfully, other than the Joker, I only resent the Bat…"_

"You became the Red Hood, taking control of the criminal gangs in your own corner of Gotham to show him that his methods were inefficient," Jason says, retelling the other's story as he knows it, if for nothing else then to hopefully ensure that the other kept talking. "You wanted justice but you also wanted to prove a point; attacking Timothy Drake to prove that you were a better Robin, kidnapping the Joker to confront Batman…"

"_He only gave excuses, so I offered him an ultimatum."_

He feels as though he is watching the imagined scene now, but from within the other rather than from some point beyond him. "Your life or the Joker's."

"_I guess I really could have planned it out a bit better. Then again, it's all the same in the end… though I do regret that I didn't go ahead and kill the Joker when I had the chance."_

He is watching the other's hands, handling the weapon with practiced ease. "Instead, you nearly got blown up again and went underground."

"_Yeah… I went to mess with Nightwing,"_ the other readily admits, and the view shifts slightly as the other seemingly turns his head to the side to look out of the window and at the surrounding cityscape. _"And then there was that matter with jumping between dimensions. An odd one that." _– The other Jason pauses slightly, and then there is black and then light once more, and this time around, the other is surveying the room, which appears to be a quite messy apartment. _"Well… let's just say that a lot of stuff happened. Then again, you already know that, don't you?"_

"Bits and pieces, yes, but not all of it," he responds, trying to piece it all together. "Back when Batman disappeared, you fought with Dick and Tim… and Damian?"

The other snorts once again. _"Yeah… and ended up in prison for a while too until that foolish Replacement decided to help me escape. And then we all fought over the Bat's legacy. Foolish, huh?"_

Foolish, yes, but Jason does not comment on it. "Why do you even want to become the Batman?" he asks instead, mostly since he is curious about what kind of motives the other could possibly have for trying to accomplish such a thing, seeing that he seemed to loathe the man beneath the mask with passion.

The other Jason positively scoffs at him and shifts his eyes towards the window again. _"I admired his image – as an urban legend mind you, not as a public persona. All this business with the Justice League and all that really ruined things. It made him weak. Imposing, yes. Lethal, no."_

"Dick and Damian went after you," Jason says. "You shot Damian and then nearly killed Tim…"

"_You disapprove,"_ the other Jason says, a wry smile showing in his reflection.

"Yes."

"_Well, fuck your opinion, kiddo."_

"Well, fuck you, old man."

Momentarily, there is silence, and then, the other Jason chuckles slightly to himself. _"If I could shoot you, kiddo, I would."_

"You don't kill children," Jason drawls right back at him. "Not normally."

"_I could make an exception."_

Now Jason is the one who scoffs. "Dick beat you," he says instead, continuing to piece things together in his mind. "And in return, you withdrew your claim to the title, reworking your identity as the Red Hood."

This time around, the other sounds positively pensive. _"Yeah… it had its ups and downs, but overall I had a blast. I mean really, capturing and stripping the reinvented Dynamic Duo? Honestly…"_

Truly. "You had a sidekick?"

The other pauses slightly. _"Scarlet?"_

"Where is she now?" Jason asks, honestly curious.

"_Why do you care?"_ the other responds, tone signalling that a change of topic would be in order.

"You spent time in prison?" Jason asks instead, even though he really knows the answer.

The other seems almost proud as he responds. _"In Arkham initially, even if it has been proven that I am perfectly sane – somewhat twisted, yes, but still as sane as anyone can be after all the shit I've been through."_

"Suicide rates…" Jason whispers.

Laughter answers him. _"Oh yeah… I did convince quite a few people to off themselves, and in turn, quite a few people tried to off me, and I repaid the favour in spades…"_

"Eighty-two dead."

"_It was worth it,"_ the other readily admits. _"Even if I did get shipped back to Arkham after that. Or rather, they tried."_

"And then you went to rescue Scarlet, cooperating with Dick and Damian," Jason recalls. "And then the two of you escaped."

"_Yeah…"_

"And then she's gone."

The other is frowning now, puzzled from the looks of it. _"You're referring to my time with the Outlaws?"_

"Yes."

"_Still…"_ the other Jason goes on. _"Why would you care? It isn't like you've met her personally or anything."_

It's a good question; it is, truly. "Since I am here now, watching the world through your eyes, I don't know if I ever will."

For a brief moment, there is silence, and then the other Jason finally speaks, his voice a tiny bit softer compared to before. _"Hey, don't worry, kiddo; you're not dead… not yet at least,"_ he says, getting to his feet_. "So… since you're here and all, you might as well sit back and enjoy the ride… I mean, I've obviously got stuff to do – crooks to eliminate and all – but I still think I'll have time to teach you a thing or two before you're able to get back over there, seeing that your mentor really hasn't taught you all that much…"_

The other Jason goes on to list the things he wants to teach him, but Jason himself remains silent throughout it all, teetering on the border between hope and a distinct lack of it. "_Before _and not _if_, huh?" he finally notes.

"_Definitely before,"_ the other Jason notes a bit wryly. _"The amount of time I'll be able to stand living with you inside my head is very limited."_

"Even so," Jason finds himself saying. "You're actually enjoying this a bit, aren't you?"

The other Jason shrugs in response. _"Who knows?"_

**- o0o -**

"Hey, Jay… no offence but… who're you talking to?"

The other Jason looks up, and is greeted by Roy Harper – aka Red Arrow aka Arsenal – standing there on the doorway looking at him quite strangely. Momentarily, the other Jason seems a bit taken aback by it all, but within seconds a wry smirk has adorned his face. "I seem to have developed a conscience… and we're right in the middle of an argument over here."

Roy furrows his eyebrows ever so slightly before scoffing and entering the room, fetching some gear from behind one of the sofas in it. "Can you guys make it brief? We've got to get a move on."

As the archer leaves, Jason speaks up again. _"Are you going to return to your old ways now?"_

"Old ways?" the other Jason questions, moving across the room to fetch his mask.

"_Of killing people."_

The other remains silent for a while, seemingly contemplating the matter, but then scoffs at it. "Honestly… you think you can redeem me?" he taunts. "Well… good luck with that, brat."

Jason is tempted to retort, but refrains from doing so and instead finds himself contemplating the notion in silence. Actually, thinking about it and how he himself is in effect trapped in the other's mind for an unknown period of time, not having any sort of purpose whatsoever to work towards would likely drive him spare in mean time. As such, the project of attempting to redeem his other self did hold merit, partially because it was not something which could be accomplished in a single day and partially because it was something which could possibly end up benefitting them both in the end if things went well. Then again…

"Brat, that was a joke; don't get any strange ideas."

He finds himself seriously tempted to laugh at this, momentarily disregarding his own possibly dire circumstances.

"Seriously, don't. It's not going to happen."

"_Wanna bet?"_

It's alright, he tells himself. It'll all be alright eventually, and in the meantime, he might as well make the best of what he has and make good use of the time he has been given, even if it means that he will in effect be annoying the Hell out of his older other dimensional counterpart to do it.

For him – no, for the both of them – there was still time; time to live and time to change things. Admittedly, there is little to be done about the past. However, the future is still undecided, and in the end, so is he.

Once, he used to think that he had the ability to somehow perceive the future, drawing parallels between another's past memories and his own present, initially misinterpreting them as the inevitable path leading up to his own future before finally coming to terms with the fact that those images were just that – someone else's memories – and adjusted himself accordingly. After all, in the end, even with the similarities, he and the other Jason are and had always been fundamentally different even though they had shared a lot of experiences up until a certain point in life where their paths had diverged – or perhaps rather where Jason himself had decided to stray from the path which had seemingly been laid out for him, perceiving that his own death and destruction ultimately lay in walking down that path. Then again, and quite ironically, he had not been able to stay clear of the Bat – of Bruce; of everyone – and had been swept right back into the fold as though he had been meant to belong there from the start, and even after he had both reluctantly adorned and shed the costumed identity of Robin, he still remained a part of it all even though he usually sought to keep some distance between himself and the others.

Even so, however unwittingly, it was probably the other Jason's interference that had ultimately saved his life, showing him an image of what he could become if he ever allowed anger and bitterness to cloud his reason. Unwittingly, the other had saved him, and Jason supposes the least he could do is to return the favour now that he has been given the opportunity to do so, in spite of the other's expressed wishes and worded threats and promises of imminent retaliation.

"Don't you dare…"

He smiles.

**- o0o -**


End file.
